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The Rangers; or, The Tory's Daughter - A tale illustrative of the revolutionary history of Vermont by D. P. Thompson
page 40 of 474 (08%)
frightened horses made a sudden and desperate lunge forward, and, with
a speed that could neither be checked nor controlled, dashed onward
over the dissevering mass, leaping from piece to piece of their
sinking support, and each in turn falling in, to be drawn out by his
mate, till they reached the shore, and rushed furiously up the bank,
beyond the sweep of the dreadful torrent from which they had so
miraculously escaped.

"O God of heaven, have mercy on my daughter!" exclaimed Haviland, in a
piteous burst of anguish, as he sprang out of the sleigh among the
company, who, with horror-stricken looks, stood on the bank mutely
gazing on the fast receding form of the luckless maiden, thus left
behind, to be borne away, in all human probability, to speedy
destruction.

For a moment no one stirred or spoke, all standing amazed, and
seemingly paralyzed at the thought of her awful situation having no
hope of her rescue, and expecting every instant to see her crushed, or
ingulfed among the ice that was wildly heaving and tumbling on every
side around her. But fortunately for her, the broad, solid block, on
which she had alighted, and on which she continued still to retain her
stand, was, by the submerged and rising masses beneath, gradually and
evenly forced upwards to the top of the column, with which it was
moving swiftly down the current. And there she stood, like a marble
statue on its pedestal, sculptured for some image of woe, her bonnet
thrown back from her blanched features, and her loosened hair
streaming wildly in the wind; while one hand was extended doubtfully
towards the shore, and the other lifted imploringly to heaven, as if
in supplication for that aid from above, which she now scarcely hoped
to receive from her friends below.
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